


Dropping By

by RussianWitch



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bows & Arrows, Dominance, Don't copy to another site, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Pervertibles, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: "Don't talk, Ollie," Barry orders, plastering himself against Oliver's back.The order goes straight to crotch, not that Oliver is going to admit that any time soon. He keeps on sharpening the arrow tip he's been working on for the last half hour. He ignores Barry's hands plucking at his shirt, pulling it out of his jeans, caressing his flanks and abdomen with nervous, sweaty fingers.





	Dropping By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kinkylittlewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinkylittlewolf/gifts).



> Not beta'd 
> 
> Gifted to Kinkylittlewolf for giving me the bad idea in the first place :P

"Don't talk, Ollie," Barry orders, plastering himself against Oliver's back. 

The order goes straight to his dick, not that Oliver is going to admit that any time soon. He keeps on sharpening the arrow tip he's been working on for the last half hour. He ignores Barry's hands plucking at his shirt, pulling it out of his jeans, caressing his flanks and abdomen with nervous, sweaty fingers. 

"Just let me . . . just let me, do things . . . this," Barry stutters nipping at the back of Oliver's neck, the small sting of Barry's teeth making him squirm and bite his tongue to keep from demanding the younger man to get on with it already. 

He gives Barry a sharp nod, amused by the sigh of relief behind his back. 

"Get up," he's ordered, and he does, dropping his hand to his sides waiting for Barry's next move. 

Barry drags his shirt up, teasing and tickling the bared skin, ratcheting Oliver's desire up another notch. He raises his arms once his shirt is bunched in his armpits, makes it easy for Barry to keep going, to work his shirt over his head. 

Barry pulling his shirt up and tying it off over his head is not what Oliver expects. 

Fear surges through him, adrenaline spiking at the feeling of being trapped; arms bound and blinded, only his mouth free of the fabric, even if it is by a friend. 

He trusts Barry, Oliver reminds himself as he is turned and pushed against the table.  

Barry's hot breath on his chest almost succeeds to distract him from the urge to rip his shirt. 

The sensation of Barry's overly hot mouth closing around a cold-tight nipple makes him groan; the urge to fight receding as Berry's tongue vibrates over the nub sending bolts of pleasure straight to Oliver's dick.  

He bites back a moan at the loss of the talented mouth as it moves up over his pectoral, leaves stinging bites along his throat and up his jaw. Barry kisses him, filthy and just a little unsure until Oliver gives in, relaxes into it grudgingly, opening up and letting Barry fuck his mouth with his tongue.  

"Wow, you're hot," Barry whispers, pushing between Oliver's legs. 

He's hoisted onto the table without warning, losing his balance and fighting disorientation, until Barry pushes him onto his back, arrow shafts and tools digging into his sides where Barry doesn't quite manage to shove them out of the way. 

"The thing I want to do...," he flicks his tongue over Oliver's navel, groping around for one of the arrowheads pricking his finger on the razor-sharp point. 

Oliver hums inquisitively but is soothed by another string of biting kisses. 

"Don't move," Barry warns. 

The arrow tip is cold against his skin; it digs into his skin just enough to make Oliver's hackles rise, even in the hands of his lover. It traces unpredictable patterns across his chest and abdomen, down to his waist slicing effortlessly through leather and denim. Barry's tongue follows, lashing his skin distracting him from the sensation of the arrowhead slicing off his jeans. 

Oliver's legs fall open in invitation, an invitation he hasn't extended since . . . Barry's tongue vibrates over his dick, disappearing just as he's about to come. 

"Not yet, you don't, not until you learn your lesson," Barry tells him cheerfully pulling away. 

Oliver can only lie there and wonder, watch the shadows on the basement ceiling through the thick cotton, and wait for whatever it is Barry wants to do to him. 

He doesn't expect his thighs to be pushed wider, to feel a finger circle his asshole. 

A moan escapes him as Oliver strains against the fabric holding him prisoner, he isn't sure if he wants Barry to stop or . . . 

"Color?" Barry demands, his fingers digging into Oliver's thighs.  

He takes a deep breath to consider his options, then another one to keep from begging for it. 

"Green!" He grates. 

Barry's hands tighten on his legs, he's going to have bruises on his thighs for days reminding him of this evening. 

"Relax . . ." The speedster chuckles licking along the underside of Oliver's dick, teasing him until Oliver's hips are dancing on the table as he tries to thrust into Barry's mouth. 

The vibrating tongue stabbing at his asshole wrenches a scream from him, the cotton tearing like paper as he jack-knives up at the sensation. 

"Ollie!" Barry chides pulling away, leaving him adrift fighting to keep from begging. Slick, wet fingers push into him once Oliver calms down, falls back onto the table bracing on his elbows to see now that he can. 

Barry looks hungry and horny, his eye colour barely visible the way his pupils are blown. 

"Stay still!" He growls, "and close your eyes!"  

He shakes his head wanting, needing to see—"Lie back down and close your eyes!" Barry urges, and Oliver does because he hates disappointing the speedster. 

Obedience is rewarded by Barry's mouth descending on his dick, swallowing him to the hilt, swallowing around him again and again until Oliver has to grab for the edge of the table to keep a fraction of control. 

After Barry's mouth, the air feels cold on his flesh, makes him whine with need. 

He almost doesn’t notice the pressure at his ass, the blunt, rounded, spreading him wide, wider — sliding in wet and slick, Oliver's body sucking it in, closing around —

"FUCK!" Escapes him, shaking his head in disbelieve that his lover has shoved one of his arrows up his ass. 

"Let's see if this works," Barry mutters, the arrow twists and moves until it hits the spot that makes Oliver arch off the table, then starts to vibrate.  

He screams, his body locking up from too much sensation, his nerves burning as he catapults towards the edge. 

"No, you don't," he barely hears, pain helping him claw his way back from the edge, sweat breaking out all over his body, the air becoming too thin.  

He pants for oxygen, locking every muscle to keep from moving, ignoring the tears welling and dribbling annoyingly into his ear. 

Barry leans over him, nips and sucks his way across Oliver's abdomen licking off the sweat pooling around his navel.  

"You look so hot," he murmurs while flicking the arrow and making it jump inside of Oliver and massaging his balls at the same time. "Let's take it to the cot," he says.  

Getting up is, difficult, the arrow in his ass shifts and messes with his balance enough that he's grateful for Barry's shoulder under his arm. He leans heavily on the slender man, nuzzles at the side of his head nipping at Barry's ear playfully until the arrow in his ass starts vibrating again making his legs go weak. 

"Bar..." Escapes him and is swallowed up, Barry licking into his mouth, tasting the moans and curses Oliver can't contain any longer.  

They stumble to the cot leaning on each other, tugging at Barry's clothes until he's naked as well, sweat-slick skin sliding against sweat-slick skin, their dicks sliding against each other, making a mess. 

"Bend over for me," Barry says between kisses. 

He does, shivering in anticipation, dizzy with the depth of his need.  

Oliver wants to go to his knees, wants to prostrate himself to his lover. 

The arrow doesn't disappear at once, Barry fucks him with it slowly, teasing him with the stretch of it until Oliver whines for it. 

"Please . . ." He gasps, reaching back to spread his ass cheeks, offering himself up for the taking. 

"You're going to ride me," Barry says, pulling the arrow out abruptly.  

A second later he's stretched on the cot, his dick lubed, ready for Oliver to mount as soon as he gets his legs to cooperate.  

Straddling his lover's narrow hips, he can't help himself, pinning Barry and savaging his throat as Barry moans as Oliver bites dark bruises on his throat that will be faded by morning. 

"Ollie!" Barry reminds him, slapping his ass with the quill-end of the arrow. 

A different one, Oliver notes, as the sharp tip is pressed against his chest as he sinks onto his lover's dick. "Come on, babe," Barry encourages, teasing Oliver's nipples with the sharp tip. 

Sweat pouring off of him makes the scratches the arrow tip leaves behind sting, his thighs begin to burn from the strain, the cot creaks dangerously with Oliver's every move.  

He wonders if there is a way to use Barry's speed force so they can stay in the moment forever, carrying each other's marks, locked together body and mind.  

"Yes!!!" Barry groans, throwing the arrow aside grabbing for Oliver's hips, fucks up into him faster than a normal human could ever do, pummeling Oliver's prostate until he can no longer see straight, until it hurts as much as it feels good, until Oliver is leaving bruises on Barry's chest trying to be good. 

"Come!" Barry slurs, the word almost unrecognizable, but it's enough, it's what Oliver has been waiting for. 

He forces Barry's hand off his hip and around his dick, slams himself down, and finds himself on his back, Barry rooting into him lightning in his eyes, his hand moving too fast. Oliver howls bucking uselessly, trying to get away from the confusion of pain and pleasure addling his brain. 

Oliver comes screaming Barry's name, sobbing as Barry keeps on fucking him, keeps on stroking his oversensitive dick wringing another orgasm out of him while he's still tender from the first one all the while fucking his ass.  

He opens his eyes still on the cot, but far less sticky and with a blanket covering him. Sitting up, he notices the weight on his leg, Barry leaning back against him sitting on the floor playing with his phone like they hadn't been fucking what seems to be a second ago.  

"I.." 

"He!" The speedster smiles brightly, "you're awake." He knee walks to the head of the cot to drop a wet kiss on Oliver's forehead. 

"I . . . didn't do what I think I did, did I?" He asks, rolling to his side and feeling his whole body light up at the movement the way it does after a long workout. 

"You fainted," Barry smirks, blushing at the same time," after I made you come three times?"  

"I didn't..." He starts to protest, only to be kissed until he's distracted. "I'm never going to hear the end of this, aren't I?"  

"Nope," his lover tells him with a smirk, "but maybe we can work on your endurance?" Laughing right in his face when Oliver glares at him. 


End file.
